


Confluence

by deathwailart



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hair, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hobbit kink.  Prompt: They braid their hair together before they have sex. Could be as part of a magical bonding ritual or just because they like it like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confluence

To an outsider it would be but an innocuous touch, a friend to a friend, the wise elf to the ragged wizard. Indulgence from the Lady of Light towards Gandalf the Grey but it is more, making his breath catch in his throat. Her deep laughter echoes in his mind when his eyes meet hers. As ever she is one of the few who can catch him entirely off his guard to prompt a smile that is for her knowing eyes alone.  Elrond smiles too - somewhat awkward or it should be given his relationship of marriage, loss and grief to her but they are old beings who have known more pain than even they could articulate.  The hearts of elves are different to those of other races and the hearts of Istari are too.  It is good to be reminded that he is not alone.  
  


* * *

  
Elven hair is so light compared to the thick, wild manes of Dwarves, the riot of curls Halflings possess or the hair of Men and hers is quite something to behold. Such a deep gold with silver, the light of Telperion and Laurelin woven in it more radiant than any jewel or mineral carved from rock by Dwarven hands. She is so tall, so steadfast, this ancient beauty with her wisdom and the light of stars in her knowing eyes that he can almost forget he is among the Istar.  
  
He cannot say when it began. She is married to Celeborn and though he does not think her to be so vain he is an old man to the eyes of those around him, old and grey with a beak of a nose, wrinkles and bags beneath the eyes from all the evils in the world that he is sent to fight. The cares of the world weigh upon her too for she has duties like him and feels the encroaching darkness even more heavily than he does with her Elven nature. The first touch of her smooth hand upon his cheek and he was lost. Slender fingers brushing back a tangle of hair that needed washed and he choked the way he usually only did when smoking a particularly strong leaf. Her laughter was ever silver bells and it came to be a sound that lifted his spirits whenever he had need of such a thing.  
  
Everything about her was pristine. Dirt and leaves did not dare to cling to her bare feet or gowns when she walked the woods with him, ascending high into the treetops. It was on her bed she bade him to sit, their knees touching as she began to part his hair and braid it loosely, weaving it into all sorts of knots. Old magic, the magic Men still liked, strands of hair woven then cut by wives and mothers to give to husbands and sons when they sent them off to war. He sat transfixed, remembering only to breathe when she urged him to, her lips brushing his ear as she leaned forward to fasten a clasp to hold her work in place.  
  
That first time she pushed him back to lie upon her bed he did not touch her hair, indeed he barely touched her at all instead letting himself be led. The sun shone through the branches to bathe her in soft light and to him she was more beautiful than even the Jewels of Fëanor.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was she who took his hands in hers to wind them through her hair, so soft and silken. His hands snagged on it with the calluses he had always had, never able to remember a time when they were not as such from his staff. Dirt beneath his nails and around them, caught in the skin of his knuckles. She kissed those fingers then wound hers about them to help in removing her circlet before she taught them how to fashion braids with beads woven in them. The braids were never tied off and came loose when she was above him, her hands still on his over her hips, looking into his eyes as they called each other all the names they had ever been known by.   
  
The beads littered the bed after. He found them in the folds of his robes and kept them until the paint chipped, the wood rubbed smooth, the glass scratched.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Do not be afraid, Mithrandir. You are not alone. If you have need of me, _I will come_." It lingers in his mind as he moves to catch up with Thorin's company and Bilbo. He rolls a bead between his fingers and allows a smile only the wilds will see, gripping his staff tighter as he moves on, still able to feel her touch upon his cheek.


End file.
